


3 A.M.

by Synful_Trixx



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synful_Trixx/pseuds/Synful_Trixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica and Logan have never lived normal lives, an 11 year history after graduation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 A.M.

Graduation came and went. Another big mystery solved and under her belt. She'd decided to go to Hearst, stay close to home to take care of her father, to be close to Wallace. To be close to Logan.

She'd deny it if anyone asked, or implied that she felt anything other than friendship towards him. The late nights and three a.m. phone-calls told a different story. He came with her occasionally on stakeouts. Late-night company and a little muscle when it was needed, more and more often was it needed.

Everyone told her it was only a matter of time, that he'd worm his way through her defences eventually. They were right. Another late night phone-call and he was there on her doorstep, what seemed like minutes later **, s** taring at her through the glass of the door as an unexpected rain soaked through to his skin.

He had the phone to his ear as he pressed his hand to the glass, both romantic and cheesy and all things Logan that she'd come to love and hate all at once. Confusion and love wrapped up in a messy bundle of emotions. She'd slowly opened the door, phone dropping from her fingers as he barely paused before he had her pressed back against the stairwell.

They didn't exchange witty banter. They didn't snark or participate in their version of foreplay. Their bodies taking over as the heat between them reached its natural conclusion. The darkened stairwell the only witness to the passions consuming them, silent witness to the fires within.

They tried to take things slowly. Dating, sleeping together, and living together. Their version of slow that no one else seemed to understand. As always, they ended in a blazing screaming fight at three a.m. on a Saturday morning. He'd come home drunk one too many times, smelling of perfume with lipstick staining his cheeks.

She'd thrown a vase at his head, he barely ducked in time, anger and fear tingeing his voice as he yelled about trust and love and all the ones that had come before. Duncan, Troy, Leo. Yelling to inflict the most damage. Predictable in the weapons they wielded with such precision.

The day he moved from their apartment was uneventful. He waited until he knew she was in class, his things gone when she returned home. Sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room she hugged the shirt he'd left in the laundry hamper, still smelling of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, his scent all but gone from the dirty fabric. She clung to it with conviction; certain she could rescue the last piece of him. Even if she couldn't rescue Logan himself.

Veronica had moved on. She was sure she had. She dated, had a steady boyfriend. Someone who loved her in ways he'd never been able to. He brought her flowers for no reason at all, told her she was beautiful and wanted her to live her dreams. He stood in her shadow and never complained. She knew she didn't love him, but there was a chance; there was hope.

They spent Sundays alone together, wrapped up in her apartment, old movies blaring on the television as they talked about their week, the time they'd spent apart, fingers laced together as he listened attentively.

There were times she stared at him, trying to puzzle out what was missing, why she wasn't head over heels in love with him already. He was what she wanted, normal, loving, accepting, a good boyfriend that stood by her through thick and thin. He made trips to the hospital in the middle of the night to drive her home when one of her stake outs had gone bad, taking care of her aches and pains, nursing the bruises until they faded yellow on her skin.

He never offered to come with her. Never offered to keep her safe.

She'd managed to graduate early, packing four years of classes into a short three years - twenty-one, with a college degree and the world at her feet. Rushing to see him, to share her news, bursting into his apartment and finding him in the arms of another woman. Faceless, brown hair, big breasts, unapologetic.

Veronica was sure it should hurt. When your boyfriend cheated on you it was supposed to be painful. She'd turned around without a sound and closed the door quietly behind her. Walking away without shedding a single tear.

The doorstep of Logan's apartment appeared before her as if by magic. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten there, what she was doing there. But he was here, letting her in. Holding her, kissing the numbness away. He didn't ask questions. Didn't ask how she knew where he lived. He accepted the way he always did, with lips and tongue, gentle fingers soothing the creases of her life away.

No words were spoken, no endearments whispered into silken skin. They went from holding each other closely in the centre of his living room to being naked in the middle of the floor.

His girlfriend walked in half way through. Awkward was a word for the position she caught them in. Barely pausing, they'd stared at her until she'd turned around and left, tears coursing down her cheeks. Logan turned his eyes back to Veronica, and she could tell. See it in his eyes that the jilted girlfriend was already forgotten.

They were married two weeks later in a small beach ceremony. Keith Mars appeared stoic when giving her away, before surreptitiously wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Wallace was her maid of honour, standing beside her, tall and strong as Logan and Veronica quietly exchanged vows, promising forever.

Forever never lasted very long in Neptune, California.

Fighting, when living in the Mars/Echolls household, was an Olympic sport. Both Veronica and Logan were championship athletes.

Logan got amazingly skilled at dodging household objects lobbed at his head. Veronica learned how far she could push him before he'd go on another bender.

They'd been pushing each other all week. Just like any other week. Their words laced with acid, burning through the others defences before they'd end up fucking against the wall, the floor, the counter, anywhere he could slam her body before taking her roughly. Punishing her for the words that fell from her tongue with such ease.

Heated vitriol spilled from their lips as they glared, another stupid argument over nothing and everything all at once. He took one step towards her and she let the fatal words fly from her mouth.

"You're just like your father."

Eyes widening comically as his hand came up, arcing towards her face as she stood there, frozen in fear. Waiting for him to connect. Waiting for the leashed violence inside him to be set free.

He'd punched the wall behind her head. Eyes dead, mouth set in a firm line, as without a word he'd turned and walked away. Leaving the apartment, her life, their life together without a backwards glance. Not even bothering to pack.

Veronica was frozen. Frozen from the outside in as she packed up the kitchen, the living room, his belongings and placing everything in storage.

She was frozen when she signed the divorce papers, no fuss, no clamour. Their divorce nothing like their relationship, a signature on the bottom of fifty sheets of paper and she was once again Veronica Mars.

Staring at the clock she wondered at the significance, before slipping the papers back into their envelope. She'd learned to hate three a.m.

A year passes. Two. Veronica's free and roaming the world. Stuck in a dusty, desert hole, taking pictures of the bodies littering the ground. Misery loves company and she's miserable enough to keep the country company.

She'd seen too much. Done too much, walked away with cries for help ringing in her ears, snapping pictures behind her as the bombs fell from overhead. Lives ruined on a second hand basis as she made her fortune taking pictures of others' misfortune.

They'd nicknamed her that at the magazine office. Ms. Fortune. Cold, hard, bitter Veronica Mars, staring death in the face and snapping pictures as others lost their lunches. She'd never been one to ignore the truth. Never been one to walk away when she could so easily run.

Lovers come and go. One night stands in the musty motels she holes herself up in... Men to pass the time with, silken skin on rough sheets, broken memories that are gone for a minute. She never gives a repeat performance. She's not sure she could handle someone she'd fucked on more than one occasion staring up at her from a foxhole, little pieces littering the ground.

A pickle, a bind, she reminds herself as she watches the disasters unfold around her, broken into sects and countries both sides fighting for what they think is right. She can't see the big picture anymore.

He finds her in a deserted camp, crouched low to the ground as she snaps shot after shot of both enemy sides, the children on the ground crying for help. There's no talking, no understanding this time. He hands her a bottle of water and takes her heavy camera bag from her shoulder, taking her burden before crouching low beside her.

Veronica's not surprised to see him. Another continent, another time and place, they aren't Veronica and Logan anymore. She's a war photographer; he's just the way he always was, showing up in unexpected places.

She called it a day long hours later, dirty clothing stained with the blood of the fallen who had grasped at her as she'd moved among them. He's silent as he follows her to her hovel, setting her camera bag down beside the door.

"You're not like your father." The first words she'd spoken to him in more than two years, and it's fitting that it's a continuation of the argument that caused them to separate in the first place.

"That's not why I left, Veronica." His voice is low and rough, hoarse from screaming with her, while she took pictures of hell.

They aren't the same people. The same children that married in haste, promising forever, and meaning tonight. With everything they've seen they can't be those people anymore.

She'd turned to stare at him. Lost in the man that he'd become, the man he was turning into on that long ago night.

Veronica's not sure they can ever forget the past. They've never been good at moving on, forgetting. She's not sure she wants to.

He moves towards her, his grimy fingers rubbing dirt from her cheek. He's sweet and tender in that moment; she's blinking back tears.

"I've tried to forget. Tried to think we weren't meant to be. I've told myself that epics only happen in books and movies." He's gruff, even as his fingers gently caress her cheek. "But it all comes down to this. We loved each other once. Even when we hated each other, it was always done for love." He smirked at her, a trace of the old Logan Echolls peeking through, "We love to hate and hate to love. It's who we are, Veronica."

She smiled through her tears as she pressed her cheek against his fingers, straining to hear his next words.

"Hate me, Mars. It's the only way we're good together."

They married for the second time on the shores of a war torn country. Fighter planes overhead, and the explosion of bombs in the distance. An army clergyman saying the nuptials over the solemn faced couple. There was no one there to give Veronica away.

Three a.m. and this time neither promised forever.

He'd thought that she'd come back to the States. Married to a millionaire, live a life of luxury, not bothering to work for the food on their table. He'd been mistaken. She loves her job, the pieces of herself she left behind on war torn fields. She wants to show the world the destruction the truth could cause, misguided, misled, ill-begotten truth.

Logan had learned firsthand the destruction the truth could cause. He wanted to live his life, with his wife, safe and carefree, maybe have a couple of children, normal.

They've never been normal.

Veronica tries to reason with him, tries to explain why she has to go. Why she needs this. For the first time in their long lives together, he can't hear her.

They don't fight anymore. They don't scream and yell and throw things like the passion-fuelled arguments of their youth. She leaves at 3 a.m. to catch a flight to Africa. She leaves a note on the dining room table. There are no words left to speak between them. No arguments left to have.

Veronica has tears on her cheeks as she turns and takes one last look at the house they'd bought together. Saying a final farewell to the dreams of her teenaged heart. Stained and broken she gets in the cab and doesn't look back, she fails to see him standing in the lit doorway. Fails to see his silhouette nodding after her.

Logan had known all along the truth was a destructive thing. He just hopes she survives finding that out for herself.

Veronica has been tracking him through Europe, country-hopping on her expense account as she tries to find her runaway husband. It's time for him to sign the divorce papers. It's been almost two years since she'd walked out in the middle of the night, two years of making her career, of trying to forget the earnest man he'd become.

She was getting married again, third time out of the gate and hopefully the charm. Kane was a foreign correspondent, just as comfortable covered in dirt and debris as sitting in front of the television reading the paper. He told stories about the truth, the destruction that surrounded them on a daily basis. He travelled with her on her assignments, giving voice to her pictures with the words he wrote to capture the moments.

They were perfect for each other. Or at least they would be, if Logan would just sign the divorce papers.

Multiple times she'd mailed them, only to have them returned unsigned. No note, no explanation, nothing inside the envelope but the unsigned divorce papers mocking her. This time she was delivering them herself.

She'd steeled herself for this confrontation, the recriminations falling from his lips. She was sure she was ready for anything. Ready for the war that seeing Logan again would surely start.

Letting herself into his hotel room, being Mrs. Logan Echolls had its perks at times. She stood at the foot of his bed and watched him sleep.

He was older. Rougher around the edges, day old beard scratching its way across his face. He's sprawled out on his stomach, face relaxed in sleep, clutching the pillow tight. Logan looked lonely. Hard, but lonely. She couldn't help but stare at him, drinking in the site of his tanned muscled back, the curve of his ass barely covered by the white cotton sheet.

She's not sure why. Not sure what prompts her to kick off her shoes and climb into bed beside him. He's awake, staring at her, rolling towards her, and once again she's in his arms. His mouth on hers, and there are no words needed.

They fuck the first time. Two years of frustration etched out on her skin. He stills the words wanting to fall from her lips with his tongue, his fingers gliding into her on a harsh intake of air. His eyes are intense as he drinks her in.

The second time they make love, slow, sweet, but no less passionate. He tries to consume her, to drink her in, eat her alive with the slick sliding skin against skin. He wants this with her always.

The third time, she's barely awake as he surges into her, taking her again to the edge and back. Over and over he whispers into her skin, unintelligible words that almost sound like goodbye.

When she wakes hours later in the hotel room, he's gone, and the papers are lying on the foot of the bed. Signed, sealed, and he'd delivered.

Veronica went back to Prague. She couldn't marry Kane. Not now.

This time Logan looked for her. He'd picked up a thing or two being an honorary Mars family member. Always follow two full car-lengths behind your quarry. The money trail was the easiest to track. Bail jumpers were notoriously violent. Anyone could be found with the right tools.

He searched the places he knew she'd be. Asia, Africa, Cambodia, anywhere the next Nobel Prize would be waiting for her.

Finally, he gave up after a particularly nasty confrontation with the illustrious Kane Mitchum, which had ended in a black eye, fat lip, and a bloody nose. He was informed that Kane was not in fact, Veronica's new husband, but her ex-fiancé. She'd flown directly from Switzerland, where she'd tracked him down, to Prague where she'd broken the engagement.

Another thing he'd learned. When Veronica didn't want to be found, no one could find her. Defeated, he returned home to Neptune. Which was where he found her.

Standing alone on the war-torn PCH beach of Neptune California. Three a.m. with her long blonde hair painted silver in the moonlight, wrapping around her slim form, before whipping out and away from her body. She raised a hand up to brush the strands from her face.

"So I guess we broke up, huh?" He whispered the words to her back, following the script from the long ago confrontation willing her to remember all they'd been to each other.

Veronica didn't turn around as her words drifted back to him on the breeze. "What do you want me to say, Logan?" sad and defeated as the memories threatened to overwhelm her.

They were no longer alone on the deserted beach. So many people between them. Lilly, Duncan, Aaron. Miles of distance when only a few feet separated them.

"I want you to tell me to stick my head in an oven 'cause you can't bear what a selfish prick I am." He smiled slightly as he saw her shoulders stiffen and relax at his modified speech.

"You're not selfish." Veronica turned her head towards him casting her face in shadow, white teeth flashing in the dark. Her tone was teasing but he could still see the underlying sadness in the way she stiffly hugged her body.

"Veronica…" Logan's voice trailed into nothing as she finally turned to face him. Seven long months of not seeing her, not holding her, loving her, had wrought some pretty drastic changes.

Body swollen and ripe, arms curled protectively around her protruding belly. She wore a plain white cotton maternity dress, three sizes too large; it hung from her fragile shoulders.

His eyes strayed to her left hand and the wedding band he could see sparkling in the moons glow. Eyes sweeping up her elegant fingers to the scrapes on her knuckles.

Logan tried to meet her eyes but the purple and black bruises blooming across her face caught him. One eye swollen almost completely shut, her lips puffy and split, and he was lost. She was lost to him as realisation dawned.

Without saying a word he strode towards her, sweeping her into his embrace, gentle with her tender body.

Tears streamed down his face as he whispered into her hair. Whispered his love, longing, begging for forgiveness. Promising to take care of her no matter what. He didn't care who the father was. Who she was married to. She was his and always would be.

He felt her stiffen, trying to pull away, her words finally breaking through the stupor he'd fallen into.

"Aaron. He was released… he found us. Found me. I had to, Logan. I…" she trailed off as her voice broke, angrily brushing the tears from her face. "Let me go, Logan. Let me go!" She was angry now, needing to attack as she shoved him away. Freedom came and she was gone, running awkwardly across the beach as he sat in the sand, frozen in shock.

Shaking himself free, he moved in the direction she'd gone. Once again too late. Too late, too bitter, too everything he could never be for her.

In a town the size of Neptune she shouldn't have been able to disappear… but she did. Veronica was gone.

Three a.m. and he's on Keith's doorstep, tears and apologies written on his face. He learned the truth and it was every bit as destructive as he'd always known it was.

They were still married; the baby was his. Aaron, only weeks out of jail, had tried to take their lives. She'd shot and killed him trying to protect their unborn child. Self-defence but no less haunting.

Keith and Logan searched for her, leaving no stone unturned. They followed every lead and ended up with nothing. Four months passed, the baby had surely been born by now, so they searched diligently through birth records, still coming up empty-handed. They finally had to face the fact that Veronica didn't want to be found.

On her twenty-fifth birthday Keith and Logan bought presents, cake, and a Veronica-sized portion of Manicotti. The food went cold, the cake stale, as both men lost themselves in a bottle of tequila. They fought the worm and the worm won.

Keys in the lock at three a.m. she found them on the floor, her pictures scattered around them like shrapnel from the past. She took in the food, the upended bottle of tequila, the absence of the worm, and had to smile.

Down the hallway, carrying the heavy bassinette, setting it on the bed closest to the wall. She crawled between the covers and fell asleep to the soft sounds of her daughter sighing in her sleep, and the jagged edges of their snores in the living room.

Logan woke first, the sounds of a baby crying following him out of his dreams and into the first stages of wakefulness. Sitting straight up as he heard Veronica's soft voice and the cries turning to distant whimpers. She was there… either that or a baby had taken up residence in her room during the night. Pressing a hand to his forehead he shook his head. With the condition they were in the night before, anything could have happened.

He made his way tentatively towards her room. The room he'd been staying in for the past four months. She lay on her back, pillows propped up behind her, sunlight caught in her hair as she fed their child. Their child, plump faced and rosy with health, suckled heartily, kneading the soft flesh with tiny clenching fingers.

"You're beautiful."

It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Her gaze popped up to meet his own, her eyes soft with love as she stroked the baby's tiny cheek.

"Logan Echolls, meet your daughter. Megan Lillith Echolls. Meggie for short."

Logan was by the bed in an instant, his finger trailing across a downy cheek as he met Veronica's eyes.

They weren't okay. They might never be okay. They might never make it past the horrors of their memories. But for now they had each other. They had Meggie to think about. For now that would have to be enough.

Life wasn't always sunshine and roses. Lately it hadn't even been pickles and vinegar. Rough-hewn edges that clawed through them until they were rough and ragged, scratched until they bled. They always seemed to bleed for each other.

Six months to the day of waking up and finding Veronica in her old bedroom feeding their daughter. Six months of trying to touch her and being pushed away on a daily basis. Six months of loving her so much it tore him apart inside every time she brushed his hands from her face, brushed him away from her life.

Meggie was beautiful. Crawling and gurgling, a little bundle of joy that caused no end of heartache every time she grabbed his finger in her tiny fist. He wasn't sure how much more his heart could take before it shattered for good.

Late nights, and endless days, no sexual appetite, and evasiveness, all the things they'd taught him to look for when tailing a cheating spouse. All the things he dealt with on a daily basis. Veronica was obviously sleeping with someone else.

Logan tried to put the pieces together, a mismatched jigsaw puzzle with half the puzzle missing. Too many late nights with Weevil dropping her at the door, smelling of cheap booze and cigarette smoke. Wallace taking her and Meggie on Fridays to his house near Hearst campus - 'family time', she explained it away.

So many lies, tangled up in their lives, like ribbons holding them together. The road to hell was paved with good intentions and he's all out of brick and mortar to lead the way. He's through weighing the consequences, through being the jilted husband. He needs more than the tiny kisses pressed to his cheek when she thinks he's sleeping.

He asks Keith to baby-sit on a Friday night. Phones the boys and he's off, gone to a seedy bar on the bad side of town. Dick, Cassidy and the rest of his high school posse anteing up to show him a good time, he's through the door and halfway through his first beer when he sees her.

In a corner booth, wearing a skirt cut too high, a shirt cut too low. Weevil's shiny bald head leaning in close to hers as she whispers in his ear. His Veronica doesn't wear makeup. She doesn't dress up, and she certainly doesn't touch anyone the way she's touching Weevil Navarro at that moment.

He stares for a few moments, watches her laugh at something Navarro had said, her hair cascading around her shoulders, carefree and not his girl anymore. Not his wife. He can see the wedding band missing from her finger, a pale mark on her sun kissed skin. A pale mark in their lives together.

Grabbing the first girl he sees - or doesn't see, as his eyes are still trained on Veronica's laughing face - he buys her a drink, and the night is off to a rousing start. A bottle of cheap tequila, the worm slithering down his throat like all the lies she tells him. He's sure the girl in front of him is the Veronica he fell in love with when they were twelve, when they were in high school.

There's no disappointment as he leads her from the seedy bar. He doesn't see the girl in front of him anymore. She's Veronica in all her innocence, smelling like marshmallows and promises beneath the sour stench of old cigarettes and cheap booze. Logan just wants her to let him touch her again. Wants to show her how much he's loved her since the moment he'd seen her in her white knee socks, green shorts riding low.

He cries while they fuck, against the building with his pants around his ankles. He whispers over and over how much he loves her. Needs her, wants her. Can't live without her. Begging her not to leave him again. Telling her all the things he's never been brave enough to say sober. That she's his happy ending when the world is full of bloodshed, ruined lives, and space between them.

It's over in moments, hours later, time having no meaning, and the sad eyed blonde is telling him to go home. Telling him to go home to his wife and tell her all the things he'd just told her. She's shouting at him for using her and telling him her name, before she's slapping him across the face. Sending him crashing to the ground with his trousers still around his ankles, cock flapping in the breeze.

Struggling into his pants he turns, wanting nothing more than to go home to his Veronica, to try and make it work one more time. And she's there. Standing a few feet away with her mouth hanging open, tears streaming down her face, fire in her eyes.

She's his Veronica again as the words start spilling from between her lips. Telling him she hates him, loves him, can't forgive him. Calling him out on his drunken behaviour.

Weevil is there beside her, one hand on her shoulder and sadness in his eyes as he takes in Logan's rumpled appearance. He shakes his head before trying to lead Veronica away, and that's all it takes to snap Logan out of his stupor, the alcohol muddling his mind sliding away in the face of his blinding rage.

He quietly calls her a whore. Watches her face turn white as his words hit home. He tells her he knows what she is. Knows what she's done and who with. He spills all the secrets he's been keeping inside, until all the colour fades from her completely.

She's a pale imitation of the firebrand she was moments ago, his words slicing through her with the precision of a sharp blade. They are Logan and Veronica again, enemies from high school, using words as weapons to cut the other down.

He's not sure who's more surprised when she attacks him, himself or Weevil, as they struggle to contain her, her fists flying as she aims for his face, his crotch, anything to inflict the most damage. She's screaming at him, words he can't understand. Vocalising everything she's been keeping inside the past six months.

Words of love, hate, guilt, rape. Rape. Rape. Rape.

He finally understands. Knows what happened that long ago day when Aaron came for her. Tried to take her away from him. Knows without a shadow of a doubt that he succeeded even from beyond the grave.

She's still screaming as Weevil wraps his arms around her. Screaming about guilt and blame. It's his fault. His fault for letting his father hurt her. His fault for letting Lilly die. His fault for ruining her life. All roads lead back to the great Logan Echolls.

She whispers. Relaxing into Weevils embrace as she finally lets him pull her away, finally lets the calm take her. She whispers that she's done travelling that road. He won't be able to hurt her again. Won't let him pave the road she's bound to travel.

She's gone on the back of Weevil's motorbike before he can process everything she's said. Away from him into the night with someone who should hate him, but only looked at him with pity in his eyes.

No more happy endings.

The story hit the papers two months later. Local Heroine Veronica Mars, Nobel Prize winner, ex-wife to one Logan Echolls, with the help of one Eli 'Weevil' Navarro, had caught a serial rapist the Sheriff's department had been unable to catch. The story went on to tell of their undercover nights, the lengths they'd gone to, and the danger she'd been in.

Veronica and Weevil had been working together. Not sleeping together. She hadn't been having an affair. Logan signed the divorce papers, uncontested, gave her half his fortune, which she refused to touch. She wanted nothing from him.

He hadn't seen her since that night. No contact. He picked Meggie up every second Friday from Keith's apartment. Dropped her off, clean and sleeping, two days later. Keith's eyes were always sad as he handed Meggie over to Logan, disappointment painted across his features.

Two months, six, a year, time had no meaning anymore.

Drowning in bottle after bottle, giving in to the failures he himself had perpetuated. They weren't meant to be, but they I were /I epic. Lives ruined, bloodshed, a true modern day Romeo and Juliet story, ending in a tragedy of his own making. He lived for Meggie now, the time between, a memory lost to a haze of alcohol.

Keeping in touch with reality he reads the paper on a daily basis. Torturing himself with the details of Veronica's very public life. She'd joined Mars Investigations as a full time staff member. Sensational cases solved with a little hard work. She's making a name for herself that isn't synonymous with death anymore. Veronica is finally saving lives.

He's not overly surprised when he sees the wedding announcement. Eli Navarro and Veronica Mars announced their engagement, or to be exact, had it announced for them. She'd been spotted wearing a rather unassuming engagement ring on her left hand.

Logan wanted to wish her well. Wanted to wish her all the happiness and joy with her new life, all the happiness he could never give her. He found, as much as he wanted to be, he wasn't the better man.

Sober six months and counting, watching the papers for their wedding announcement, where, when, on the off chance the why would be there as well. Meggie loved her Wee as she referred to Weevil. She loved his motorcycle, talking avidly about sitting on the seat while Weevil revved the engine. She loved their trips to the beach… and she broke Logan's heart every time she said 'Mommy smiled.'

They weren't his family anymore.

His AA counsellor thought it would be a good idea to put his thoughts down on paper. Anything and everything that came to mind, no matter how disjointed it may seem. Logan scoffed at first. What could it solve to relive the past? Where would it get him to remember the happier times with Veronica? The times he'd ruined her life.

The thoughts trickled slowly. Cascading out onto the bright screen of his computer in the dead of night. The nightmares flooding through his defences as he relived his childhood. Relived his mother, relived his… relived Aaron. Rarely able to sleep, the slim sheath of papers turned into large stacks, until every available surface in his office was covered.

He wrote about seeing Veronica for the first time, twelve years old in white knee socks, green shorts hanging a little too low on her tiny child's body, smile lighting up her features till she glowed with it. He wrote the story of Lilly Kane and the love that should never have been.

It was a like a dam breaking, the words flowing from his fingers until he felt absolution creeping at the edges of his consciousness. Veronica was his no longer, but their story deserved to be told, he needed to tell it. Three a.m. and he wrote the last words in a fit of self-loathing.

He wished Veronica and Weevil happiness in their lives together.

Logan's book was released on Meggie's fourth birthday. 'Will This Thing Ever Get Anymore Normal' written by Logan Echolls. He'd been in a weird mood writing the dedication. 'To a life I could have lived.'

He'd allowed his AA counsellor talk him into publishing. It still didn't seem like such a hot idea. People would READ it. They'd know, they'd know his life, their life together, their life apart. The tabloids would have a field day. It was never a good idea to leave himself open for that type of scrutiny.

He'd spent the day before with Meggie. They'd gone to the zoo, eaten too much ice cream, suffered from tummy aches and spent the day laughing in the sun. She smiled like Veronica used to, with her eyes.

Two years and they hadn't seen each other once. The master of avoidance, Veronica had managed to be somewhere else the entire time. Keith on the other hand, Logan saw four times a month, sometimes more when he was invited over for dinner.

Since he'd started going to AA the sadness had disappeared from Keith's eyes. The disappointment had turned to pride in all that Logan had accomplished. It was probably the biggest shock of Logan's life the first time Keith called him son. Honorary or otherwise he was truly a part of Keith and Meggie's family. They were the only true family he'd ever known.

He'd brought over a copy of his book, signed, sealed, and delivered the week before the release date. Solemn, he'd handed it to Keith before asking him to read it. Logan truly wanted Keith to be proud of his accomplishments. When he awoke this morning he'd found the copy in his mailbox, a yellow post it sticking out from the centre of the book.

He'd opened the page expecting to see a note, a response, something other that what he actually found. Highlighted text, pink highlighted text to be exact, and he grinned a little at the thought of Keith with a neon pink highlighter in his hand.

_I'd tried to forget. Tried to think we weren't meant to be. I'd told myself that epics only happened in books and movies, it wasn't real life._

_I was wrong._

_Veronica and I had always been Epic. Too much, too little, too late, that was the story of our lives. I thought that maybe just this once. Maybe this time we could have our happy ending. We had only to accept it, embrace it, the way we'd always accepted the venom between us._

_Epics usually ended in tragedy. If we could have one more night together, I'd gladly embrace the blade myself. A modern day Romeo and Juliet._

  
Scrawled at the bottom of the page in Keith's messy handwriting, Logan felt his eyes well up with tears.

_'This is the way she deserves to be loved.'_

He'd been right. Epics usually ended in tragedy. Snorting softly to himself, Logan shook his head. Another episode of As the Stomach Turns, the soap opera of his life.

Two months since the release of his book, the press were unrelenting in the quest to annoy the hell out of one Logan Echolls. He dodged, he evaded, he got photographed in his underwear. The ladies of Neptune swooned over him for weeks after those pictures hit the tabloids.

Another day, another book signing, hand cramping and black sharpie staining his fingers. He'd been surprised when the book had made it to the number one spot on the New York best sellers list. People really needed to learn that just because a celebrity published a book, didn't mean it was a good book.

He looked up from the table opening his mouth to make small talk with the next star struck fan, and she was there. Standing before him like no time had passed at all. Her hair was short again, feathered around her face like an echo from the past. The words died in his throat.

Veronica didn't smile as she handed over her copy of his book, open to the front cover. He glanced down to see her neat and tidy scrawl across the blank page.

_'Epics don't always end in tragedy.'_

By the time he glanced up again she was gone. Lost in the crowd, away into the past where she belonged. Closing the book softly he placed it in his bag beside the table, moving on in a daze to the next person in line.

Hours and one coffee break later, Logan was exhausted. Shoving his jacket into his bag he made his way out of the bookstore, heading towards his SUV in the parking lot. A tiny diminutive blonde stood leaning against his door.

"We never set a date. I couldn't do it, couldn't live that sort of lie." The first words she'd spoken to him in two years, no anger, no hate, no recriminations, just a bald statement of fact. She acted like he knew what she was talking about.

He couldn't bring himself to move, frozen to the spot as she stepped closer.

"It was a beautiful book Logan. Epic." She smiled softly at him. "Lives ruined, bloodshed, continents spanned." The speech he'd made to her at the long ago Alterna-Prom, word for word quoted back to him.

"I thought our story was epic, you know. You and me." He spoke after a moment, voice hoarse and trembling.

"We don't have to be Logan. We don't have to end in tragedy." She took a step closer, one small hesitant step, but it was all he needed.

She was in his arms, their lips pressed firmly together, tongues sliding against each other as they fought for something more, something deeper.

Finally pulling away, gasping for air, he whispered his apologies, whispered the truth against her skin.

"I know the truth, Logan. I read your book." Her grin flashed in the dim glow of the nearby streetlight.

They may not have a fresh start. Married twice already, baby Meggie between them, lives ruined, and too much blood on the ground. But no one ever wrote songs about the ones that came easy.

Their lives had never been simple. Complicated from the first moment they'd met, torn apart by murder, betrayal, love, hate, lies, so many lies twisting around them until they weren't sure they recognized the truth.

They'd both known it wasn't going to be easy. Love wasn't meant to be. But neither had bargained for it to be this difficult.

Logan didn't trust Weevil, but as Veronica's partner in the PI business, they spent many long hours working cases together. Logan's jealousy was becoming legendary. At least between Weevil and Keith - they teased her about it constantly.

Fighting like they had the first time they'd married, Logan had stopped buying anything that was easy to lift and hurl. Any more stitches in his head and he wouldn't be so pretty anymore. Veronica stood her ground and never compared him to his father. They were always brutally honest with each other, even when it cut like a double edged sword.

They lived together and then didn't, too much, too soon, just like they'd always done. That didn't stop them from falling into bed together at every available opportunity, and a few opportunities they'd made themselves.

Logan no longer saw Meggie every second weekend, but whenever he wanted. He still had dinner with Keith without Veronica present at least twice a month. AA was still a weekly meeting he attended, with or without her.

He proposed for the third time, on the PCH beach at three a.m. on bended knee. Her white cotton dress drifting around her legs as he stared up with earnest eyes.

 


End file.
